Propane Nightmares
by Victor Sandman
Summary: The chopper Soap, Price, and Nikolai are on crashes in an abandoned town in Russia, where not all is as it seems. Dedicated to Pfc. Aaron Alley, and Frigyt, my wonderful beta. Rated M for gore, language, and one scene of intense torture.
1. Chapter 1

-  
>Chapter 1<br>Out of the Frying Pan  
>-<p>

Captain John Price, 22nd Regiment, SAS Mountain Troop.  
>Site Hotel Bravo, Afghanistan.<br>Day Zero, 2016.

Captain John Price opened his eyes slowly, blinking away dust and sand from his lashes. His face was aching and bruised, and he was fairly certain that his nose was broken. He glanced around, seeing a man's corpse lyingover his own battered body. The corpse belonged to the traitorous General Shepherd. Price knew he didn't kill the American...but who did? He pushed the dead body off, and grabbed the general's dog tags; a piece of evidence to prove the man was dead.

He abruptly remembered where he was, and who had been there with him. Captain John "Soap" MacTavish was sprawled out on his back a few meters away.

"Soap...Soap! Don't die on me!" Price gasped hoarsely. The older SAS captain was panting and struggling to move towards his fellow comrade, who was his closest friend before, and his only friend right now.

The Mohawk-haired Scotsman had a severe knife wound in his chest; fortunately for him, Price was a competent field medic as well as an excellent marksman. Being a man of many skills certainly paid off. The bearded captain dressed the wound as well as he could with the limited medical supplies he had. No organs were punctured, and miraculously, the stab wasn't exceedingly deep. The blade had avoided both Soap's lungs and heart by mere centimeters.

"God damn it. Where's an extraction heli when we need it?" the Briton growled under his breath. As soon as the thought went through Price's mind, he heard the distant thunder of chopper blades slicing through thick desert air.

"Soap, sounds like this is it, mate. I 'spose they're coming to finish us off." He dragged the injured Scottish captain behind an old, rust-patched pickup, and handed him a Steyr TMP with a few extra clips.

"Thanks, Price..."

"Don't waste your breath; we're both going to die here, anyway." he rasped, glancing around for certain enemies.

Price's radio crackled on; they were both surprised it still worked after that fall down the waterfall. "Captain Price...do you read me? I am coming over to your position with a Pave-Low for extraction...do you copy?"

It was a wonderfully familiar Russian voice; never before had either one of the men been so grateful to hear that thick Russian accent before.

"Nikolai...thank God..." Soap whispered hoarsely.

"I hear ya loud and clear, mate. I got Soap here, and he's hurt pretty bad. Do you have any medical equipment up there?" Price barked into the radio.

"Da, I have a medical kit and some supplies. I will be landing nearby in a minute or two."

Sure enough, in about two minutes, Nikolai's "borrowed" Shadow Company chopper landed a few hundred feet from the SAS captains. The goateed Russian hopped out from the cockpit of the chopper and jogged towards MacTavish, concern evident in his sharp brown eyes, which immediately fell on the Scotsman's chest wound; it was crudely bandaged with blood seeping through the pure white cloth.

"Captain Price, he is not doing well."

"No, he isn't. Now help me lift him, Nikolai." Price and Nikolai grunted as they helped their injured comrade, leading him towards the extraction helicopter with his arms over their backs.

"Come on, Soap, just a bit more..." The gruff old Briton growled under his breath.

They laid his body on a bench inside the helicopter, Nikolai jumping to the front and powering up the rotors. The bearded Englishman gritted his teeth as he looked around the passenger for a medical kit. He found one in the corner, underneath the seats; he slid it out and popped it open. It was a fairly large kit, with plenty of painkillers and ample tools for disinfecting and stitching a wound.

Price peeled off the impromptu dressing he'd applied before, and yanked the belt from his pants, folding it up and placing it on a seat next to him. Price cleaned his hands thoroughly and pulled on a pair of clean medical gloves. He stuffed the leather between the surprised Scottish captain's teeth, and stabbed a morphine auto-injector into his arm. The older man sighed as he grabbed a bottle of disinfectant, wiping the blood away from the wound with a towel dampenedwith the cleansing substance.

He could see Soap's teal-blue eyes tear up slightly, and he noticed his teeth sinking deep into the pliable leather. The Englishman hated doing this to Soap, his trainee, his closest friend. If anything, it should have been him comforting the younger captain, telling him it'd be all right. But the circumstances didn't allow for that luxury; he had to take on both the roles of medic and friend at the same time.

"Hold on, Soap...breathe. Keep breathing. It'll hurt less soon." he muttered. He worked quickly, expertly, cleansing the wound, stitching it up, applying a clean, tight dressing, and cleaning himself and Soap, removing the belt from the Scot's mouth once he was done. Price knew Soap still felt a significant amount of pain, despite the injection of morphine and his caution in operating. In his eyes, Soap was still, in a way, the clumsy FNG he'd met all those years ago; he couldn't stand hurting him in any way. Hell, even when he'd criticized the recruit's name, five years back, he'd immediately regretted doing that because of the hurt look in Soap's eyes. That was the same look his visage held right now. It spoke volumes.

He couldn't withstand that gaze. It hit him at one of his only emotional weak points. Soap trusted him, and he felt like he'd failed that trust. It grated on him, that loss of trust. It was the same feeling as when he said the truth, and a close friend accused him of lying.

Price pulled his sand-colored slouch hat over his eyes, and yanked off his checkered black-and-white keffiyeh, wrapping it around Soap's neck gently. The scarf had quite the story behind it. His fellow prisoner in the Gulag used to wear it. When the prisoner was killed by the guards during an especially violent torture session, Price kept it in memory of his lost friend. He had held onto it throughout his remaining time in the Gulag. He wasn't a superstitious man, but it always seemed to bring him good luck, even after his rescue by Task Force 141.

Right now, Soap needed all the good luck he could get., and maybe, just maybe, this would give him that little push he needed to defy the odds, to stare Death in the face and walk away unscathed.

"Soap. Feeling better?" the British man asked quietly.

MacTavish nodded slightly; he was quite pale, and was sweating profusely. The Scot needed to rest; he'd lost massive quantities of blood. Nikolai would have to get them to a place with some real medical supplies, and soon. Soap's life depended on it.

The SAS captain barely even attended to his own wounds, simply wiping away some blood from his bleeding nose, and applying a wet towel to his throbbing forehead in a pathetic attempt at reducing the pain.

"Hey, Nikolai. Where are we headed?" Captain Price growled to the man sitting in the cockpit of the Pave Low.

"To a town in Russia. There is a place where nobody will find us. We will get medical supplies and ammo."  
>"Where, exactly?"<p>

"A big town...it was evacuated just after the war started, I think. Nobody will look for us there."


	2. Chapter 2

-  
>Chapter 2<br>Ghost Town  
>-<p>

Captain John Price, 22nd Regiment, SAS Mountain Troop.  
>Unknown Town, Southern Russia.<br>June 16th, 2016.

Captain Price looked through the small helicopter window, taking in the scenery; or rather, the lack of it. They were flying over a mountainous area, so there was little to see from the chopper.  
>Suddenly, the rocky terrain they were flying over dropped away, revealing a vast expanse of foggy grayness. Nikolai expertly dropped the helicopter into the fog, flying using only the instrument panel to discern his altitude and direction. The Shadow Company Pave Low was equipped with a sonar system, originally designed for landing in rocky areas without damaging the fuselage or landing gear. The Russian pilot now used it to fly blindly through fog too thick to see one's own hand through.<p>

Captain Price jumped slightly as the helicopter dropped violently, an alarm going off in the cockpit. "Nikolai! What's going on up there?"  
>"We have a problem, Captain Price. We are running out of fuel, and we do not have enough reserve to land safely. Hold on tightly; we are almost above the town."<br>Price strapped Soap into one of the seats, being careful not to disturb his wound. He then sat down himself, trying to stay calm and collected. Something was gnawing away at his nerves, however. Nothing felt right about this place; the fog, the helicopter running out of fuel, the churning feeling in his gut as their descent speed increased steadily.

"Shit! We are out of gas!" Nikolai yelled, pounding his fists on the dash.

Price grit his teeth and clenched his hands tightly onto the cold metal seat's edge. The entire helicopter shook as the fuselage slammed into the asphalt, smashing the landing gear, and breaking parts off the aircraft's body. Once it skidded to a halt, the rear cargo door opened slowly, and Price heard disturbing laughter emanate from the front of the chopper.

"Haha! We did it, Price! We are still alive! We didn't crash!" Nikolai shouted.

Was Nikolai drunk? The bearded SAS captain hoped not. He didn't want to be mistaken for a tango and shot by a Russian. Captain Price grabbed an M4A1 SOPMOD carbine with holographic sight and suppressor off the wall of the chopper, and checked the ammo on his M1911 .45 handgun. He slung an AUG HBAR with scope over Soap's shoulder, and tossed Nikolai his AK-74u with red-dot sight and heartbeat sensor.

"Let's move. If Shadow Company's troops haven't noticed us before, then they almost certainly have now," Price growled.  
>"Hey, Price, this heartbeat sensor isn't working." Nikolai complained.<br>"Toss it and grab something else! Move!" The captain snapped.  
>Nikolai slid the heartbeat sensor off the side attachment rail, and installed an under-barrel shotgun. By now, Price was attempting to lift up Soap, who was groaning in severe pain.<br>"Nikolai, come on! Help me move Soap! We need to get him to a hospital!" Price yelled, slinging one of MacTavish's arms over his shoulder.  
>"Da, I know! It is not too far! Half a kilo to the north," Nikolai responded, helping lift MacTavish with Price.<br>"Half a kilometer. Soap, can you handle that?" Price questioned. The Scottish captain nodded and tried to smile slightly through his morphine-induced stupor.  
>"All right, good." Price replied, nodding in approval.<p>

The trio struggled off, Soap half limping, half being carried. Eventually, they reached the hospital. It was a fairly large building with a bland gray concrete exterior and glass sliding doors on the entrance. Due to the power outage, they were locked tight. The bearded SAS captain laid Soap on the ground a few meters away from the door. Nikolai looked at Price in surprise, raising an eyebrow.  
>"I'm going to bash the door in," Price muttered.<br>"Ah." Nikolai nodded in understanding.  
>The captain sprinted at the glass and metal door, smashing his left shoulder into it with full force. The glass didn't budge; it was a tough material. Price panted, dropped to one knee, and rummaged through his pack for a breach charge. He had none. The next best thing was C4 or Semtex. But he didn't have any, and he knew Soap wasn't carrying any. He began struggling with the metal door frame and glass windows, bashing it with his carbine's stock, kicking at it, attempting to pry it open with his combat knife.<br>Nothing worked; it remained sealed shut.

In frustration, the captain pulled out his M1911, and fired off a few rounds at the glass, which barely chipped at the thick, shatter-resistant material. It wasn't of much use, but it gave him an idea. He'd seen a grenade launcher attachment back in the Pave Low; it would almost certainly come in handy here. "Nikolai...I'm going back to the chopper; there's a grenade launcher in there I could use to blast this door open."

The Russian shrugged. "Da. I will stay with Soap."

Price jogged back to the helicopter, which was almost entirely enveloped in a thick, damp mist. He ducked into the cargo compartment, and picked up the grenade launcher attachment, sliding it onto the under-barrel attachment rail. He also picked up an M21 EBR Thermal Suppressed, slinging it over his back. The SAS captain never quite felt comfortable without a good sniper rifle close at hand.  
>He also grabbed a few heartbeat sensors, in the hope that one of them might work sooner or later.<p>

Oddly, all of the heartbeat sensors had static instead of their normally clear radar display. He'd have to ask Soap about that when he got better; he was the technology expert of the three. He dismissed it as interference for now, and returned to the two.

Nikolai was crouching next to Soap, who seemed to be barely on the brink of consciousness.  
>"Nikolai! How's Soap holding up?" he barked.<br>"Not too well, my friend. He needs water, and medical attention." Nikolai responded, shaking his head. Price tossed Nikolai his canteen. The Russian held the bottle to the Scot's lips, allowing him to quench his thirst.  
>"I'm going to blast the door open with a grenade launcher. Get yourself and Soap clear." Price growled.<br>"Yes, Captain Price."  
>The SAS captain took a few steps back once Nikolai and Soap were clear. The blast radius was a bit larger than Price estimated.<p>

The bearded man shielded his face from the intense heat of the explosion; these were apparently high-explosive flammable grenades, rather than standard fragmentary rounds. They'd have to exercise extreme caution when using them indoors.  
>The door had been blasted clean open, and the area around it was lit ablaze because of the incendiary agents in the grenade. He ducked through the flames surrounding the entrance, rolling afterwards to snuff out any flames that might have caught onto his clothing. The bearded soldier picked up a fire extinguisher from behind the reception area desk, and blasted the entrance with the freezing-cold foam, suppressing the flames. Once the flames were suppressed, he exited the building and rejoined with Soap and Nikolai.<br>Nikolai and Price hefted Soap, carrying him through the new entrance and a few dark hallways to the first recovery room they could find. It had a hospital bed, and some medical equipment and monitors. None of it was working, thanks to the fact that the power was out in the entire building, if not the entire city.  
>Price checked Soap's wound once more. Much to the Englishman's relief, it wasn't infected, but the bandages needed to be changed. He got a fresh dressing, removed the old one, and disinfected the wound, applying the fresh gauze and wrapping it tightly over the Scotsman's chest.<p>

He sighed and plopped down into one of the chairs after he'd finished dressing Soap's wound and washing his hands. Nikolai had already taken a seat on the countertop, his legs dangling from the steel surface's edge.

"What are we going to do next, Price?"

"I was just thinking about that. Can the helicopter be repaired?"

Nikolai shook his head sadly.

"No...We do not have the resources. The fuselage is banged up, the landing gear is broken, and we have no aviation fuel. And even if we leave, the entire world is looking for us. No place is safer than here."

"Alright then. We need to find food and water here, as well as figure out some way to take down Makarov. Have you heard from Kamarov recently, Nikolai?"

"No, not since the war began. He might be dead or in prison; he was never very good with the ultranationalists," Nikolai answered, furrowing his brow.

"We could use his help. If we could ally ourselves with someone who has some power and then expose Shepherd for the traitor he was, we'll be able to clear our names."

"Da, it sounds like good idea. But the Americans will never believe you," Nikolai mumbled, rubbing his temples and sighing.

"Not if one of them was with us."

"You are talking about Sanderson?"

Price sighed and wiped a hand over his face and beard.

"Yes. Roach. God damn it...our FNG. Damn Shepherd. Damn him to hell. He killed both of 'em, Ghost and Roach. The bastard," he spat hoarsely.

Nikolai placed his hand on Price's shoulder firmly. "You have to be strong, da? I know they were your men, but everybody dies someday."

"Yes. You're right. I'll go get some supplies, and you watch over Soap. Radio me if you need anything."

"Bring me some vodka, da?"

"No way, Nikolai. I can't have you getting drunk...we can't afford to have two men out of action."

"But..."

"No."

"Fine...jerky, then..." The Russian mumbled in resignation.

"Okay, I'll see if I can scrounge you up some of that. I'll see you in half an hour. Stay sharp, Nikolai."

"Goodbye, Captain Price. And good luck," Nikolai said respectfully as Price turned his back and left the cramped hospital room.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: Sorry for the delay in uploading. I've had a lot of stuff to do in real life, and so has my *amazing* beta reader, Frigyt. I'll try to get back to a regular uploading schedule; however, don't get ticked off if I don't post a new chapter in a couple of weeks.

-  
>Chapter 3<br>Meeting the Locals

The bearded soldier jogged about a quarter-kilometer before he found a general store that wasn't barricaded shut. If this was an evacuation, then why did it seem as if the townspeople had been trying to keep intruders out?  
>He shot the padlock open with his M1911, and checked his corners with his carbine. Captain Price tensed up when he heard Russian voices coming from a nearby aisle. He ducked behind the checkout, and flipped open his heartbeat sensor. There was a faint image of sensor dots in the static; he looked harder. Suddenly, his radio emitted an ear-piercing screech, causing Price to drop the M4A1 with a clang.<br>They must have heard him by now, as their voices grew more tense.

**From the Russians' perspective...**

The two soldiers who were inside before Price barged in were Dimitri Barshai and Sergei Terasov.

Sergei Terasov was a 34-year-old Spetsnaz captain; a hardened veteran of the South Ossetian War of 2008, and the leader of the Spetsnaz's elite Fox Squad. He had buzz-cut jet-black hair, pale-blue eyes, a small fox-emblem tattoo on the upper-left of his chest, directly above his heart, and a well-trimmed handlebar mustache, and a thickset build.

Dimitri Barshai was a 27-year-old lieutenant in the Russian armed forces. He was rumored to have been assigned to Fox Squad thanks to his involvement in the Zakhaev Airport Massacre; he'd escaped death by a hair in the midst of the slaughter, and even managed to save a few civilians. He had shaggy light-brown hair, bright blue eyes, a medium build, and a certain air of mystery about him. He was the best marksman of Fox Squad.

The captain was wielding an AK-108 with Red-Dot Sight and GP-25 grenade launcher. His subordinate used a suppressed ACR with Holographic Sight. Both carried suppressed USP .45 side arms. Sergei wore dark grayish-green pixel-patterned fatigues, a pistol harness crossed over his chest, a black wool beanie, and a bandolier containing extra grenades and ammo slung over his shoulder. Dimitri wore a light gray combat jacket, a charcoal bulletproof vest, olive cargo pants, a black balaclava, a grayish-green radio headset, and a pair of red-tinted sunglasses.

A clicking sound was heard by the keen-eared Russians.  
>"Did you hear that, sir?" Dimitri said tensely.<br>"Yes, stay alert. There may be intruders here..."  
>"But...who? Surely not the Americans?" Dimitri questioned.<br>"It is not impossible, soldier. Let's sweep the area. I will take point."  
>Just then, a loud radio screech and clank came from the direction of the other entrance, the one that was locked tight with a padlock.<br>Dimitri jumped slightly, and Sergei put a hand on his shoulder to calm the nervous soldier. "Stay calm, Dimitri. You need to keep your focus." Sergei whispered, fingers running over his handgun's grip.  
>"Yes, sir." Dimitri responded, nodding.<br>They moved slowly and cautiously towards the source of the sound.  
>"Sickle!" Terasov shouted in Russian. It was a code word. The correct answer was sickle; any other response was a go-ahead for opening fire.<br>There was no answer.  
>Sergei moved forwards, edging carefully towards the checkout. He gasped as he was grabbed by the neck, and a knife forced its way towards his throat. He knew better than to struggle. Dimitri would open fire, potentially getting both of them killed.<br>"Dimitri, do not move." Sergei hissed.

His captor appeared to be another soldier. He had a thick, graying-brown beard, steely grayish-blue eyes, and wore a tan slouch hat, dark gray hooded combat jacket, drab military boots, and desert camouflage cargo pants. He had an M4A1 SOPMOD slung over his chest, an M21 EBR Thermal Suppressed on his back, an M1911 Suppressed holstered in a leg holster, and a heartbeat sensor lying on the floor near him.  
>"What do you want with me?" Sergei murmured in heavily accented English, as the other man stood up, maneuvering around the table to place him in a typical hostage-holding chokehold.<br>"Who are you? Who are you with?" Price growled into his ear, his thick beard rubbing against the younger captain's cheek.  
>"I am Captain Sergei Terasov, and he is Lieutenant Dimitri Barshai. We are Spetsnaz operatives-from Fox Squad."<br>"And I am Captain John Price, of the SAS. I'm sure you've heard my name by now...the most wanted criminal in the world."  
>Sergei's eyes widened as he heard the name. John Price? The very same John Price? He was no criminal, he was a hero, a noble-hearted man who took care of his friends.<br>"Sir? It's an honor to meet you in the flesh." Terasov said, his voice wavering slightly.  
>"What are you talking about?"<br>"You are the man who rescued my brother, Nikolai. Captain John Price of the SAS, I salute you."  
>The Englishman was speechless. Nikolai was this man's brother?<br>"You're his brother?" the bearded captain questioned, surprise evident in his tone of voice.  
>"Ye, he is my little brother. He told me much about you, and a man named MacTavish. I am greatly honored to be in your presence, sir."<br>Price released him, and Sergei turned about, revealing his face. Well, there was certainly a resemblance. The hair, the eyes, the facial structure; Sergei's face was a bit more sharply squared than Nikolai's, and he had azure blue eyes, rather than the pilot's dark brown, but they were clearly related.  
>"Do you know where Nikolai is, my friend?" the older Russian asked.<br>"He's in the hospital, watching over MacTavish. He was stabbed in the chest."  
>Terasov's face changed to an expression of dismay. "That does not sound good. Is he alright?"<br>"Don't worry yourself about him...he's doing fairly well. All he needs right now is some rest and plenty of fluids. You're coming with me?"  
>"Of course."<br>"All right. Before we go; is that guy safe? Or is he going to rat us out to Shadow Company or the Americans?"  
>"He has absolute loyalty to me. Whomever I follow, he follows. He will listen to your every order, Captain Price, as if it were mine."<br>The gruff Briton crossed his arms and nodded in satisfaction, glancing over the younger soldier.  
>"An extra pair of hands is always good. Welcome to the team, Dimitri." Price said, extending a hand to the young Russian.<br>"Thank you, sir," he said in smooth, unaccented English , shaking the older man's hand firmly.  
>"One last thing, I needed some food for Soap and Nikolai, so I'll grab that before we go..."<br>"No problem. We came here looking for supplies ourselves, since we didn't bring enough."  
>He glanced over the shelves quickly, picking up anything that looked to be easily edible, and had decent energy values. He ended up getting a pack full of instant noodles and soup-in-a-bowl...and, of course, Nikolai's jerky. Sergei shuddered slightly at the thought of putting up with food like that until he remembered the taste-or rather, the lack of taste-of Russian C-rations. Dimitri got a few large bottles of water, as well as plenty of batteries, a few emergency flashlights and radios, and a box of chocolate bars. His commanding officer raised a brow at this last item, and Lieutenant Barshai jumped to explain.<br>"It's for...uh, energy, sir!"  
>Captain Terasov sighed and hoisted his own food-filled pack over his shoulder, heading for the exit. "Let's go, Barshai, Price; no reason to wait around here."<br>The three left, heading back towards the hospital where Soap was recovering, packs loaded with much-needed food and supplies.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Reunion

The trio walked through the smashed-open doors, Captain Price taking point, and Captain Terasov following him closely. Lieutenant Barshai was covering their backs, glancing around alertly, eyes open for an ambush.

"He's over here. Let's go." Price muttered under his breath.

Terasov pulled out his Kalashnikov, flipping its tactical light on as he took point.

"It's this room...put the gun down, Sergei. No need to scare them."

Price opened the door, smiling, and he was met by a pair of questioning eyes.

"Captain Price...what's with that look? Did you get my jerky?" Nikolai questioned in a quizzical manner.

"I got you something much better than just chewy dried meat, old friend." Price said, the corners of his lips curling upwards subtly.

Captain Terasov walked in, and Nikolai's jaw fell open.

"Sergei! You're here!" the Russian pilot exclaimed joyously.

He squeezed his older brother in an enormous bear hug, which Sergei gladly returned.

"It is good to see you too, Niko. Now...what is this matter about Soap being hurt?" Sergei asked, concern evident in his tone.

"As I told you, he was stabbed by Shepherd. The old general still had some fight in him. He did some serious damage to the kid." Price explained, a shadow passing over his features.

"Hm...this does not seem too bad...you did a good job so far, Captain Price. I think within a few days he should be good as new." Sergei said, taking a look at the stitched-up wound.

"That's promising." Price muttered cynically.

In the meantime, Nikolai and Dimitri were snacking ravenously on the salty jerky, and the pilot was chatting about his experiences in the war. A little bit of flavor was a welcome change from their usual wartime diet of stale, bland, uniformly gray C-Rations.

"So, Nikolai. Long time no see, little brother. Where have you been?" Sergei asked, leaning on a countertop, clearly glad to see his younger brother.

The younger Terasov bit off another piece of jerky as he spoke.

"Flying missions for Task Force 141, doing some mercenary work, the usual...what about you?"

"Stuck at base, waiting for a deployment with nothing to do except shoot targets and run the obstacle course over and over."

Soap mumbled and stirred, and everyone's eyes fell on him as the room grew silent.

"Wha...where am I...Price...Nikolai..." he grumbled hoarsely.

"Soap...Soap. It's me. Price. I'm here." Captain Price growled softly, moving next to his friend, placing a reassuring hand on the Scotsman's shoulder.

"Price...I'm thirsty." Soap panted.

The bearded SAS captain removed the canteen from his belt, handing it to Soap, who gulped down all the water in one mouthful.

"Thanks..."

"Do you need any more?" Sergei asked.

"More would be nice..."

He motioned to Barshai, who threw him a bottle of water.

"Here." Sergei said, passing the plastic bottle to MacTavish.

Soap slurped down half the water bottle without taking a breath, then looked at the new arrivals.

"Who are you chaps, anyway?" the Scotsman asked, eyes darting from face to face.

Price motioned to the older, mustached Russian as he spoke.

"This is Captain Sergei Terasov, leader of the Spetsnaz Fox Squad, and Nikolai's older brother. And this is Lieutenant Dimitri Barshai, also from Fox Squad. They're both on our side."

"That's good to know, but what brought you lads here?" Soap asked somewhat suspiciously.

"We were sent to investigate this town; there were reports of civilian disappearances around here. We come here, and what do we find? A city that used to have 25,000 residents, now a ghost town. It seems the disappearances weren't all at once...nor were they peaceful." Sergei explained.

"What do you mean, brother? I thought they evacuated this place?" Nikolai piped up, his mouth still full of jerky.

"Nikolai, swallow before you talk." Sergei reprimanded sternly.

"Da...sorry." Nikolai said apologetically.

"And no...there was no official evacuation; everyone in the military knows that was a coverup. By not peaceful, I mean that there is a lot of blood but no corpses."

"Maybe something ate them?" Nikolai interrupted.

"Nikolai, I am going to bite your head off if you keep talking with your fat mouth full." Sergei snapped, already annoyed at his younger brother.

"Fine...fine..." the pilot mumbled.

"As I was saying...the people around here were killed in a very violent way. We thought it was the Americans. But then, Dimitri found a survivor. An old shop-owner. He was rambling on about blood demons killing the residents. Apparently, he had been attacked. He was seriously injured...did not make it to the hospital."

Sergei's eyes were a bit sad by this point in his story.

"I used to live here...knew the old man personally. I used to stop by his store after school. It was...difficult..."

There was a tense silence in the room.

Captain Price sighed, glancing at Soap, who was now asleep once more.

"How did you three get into this town, anyway?" Captain Terasov asked Captain Price, breaking the tension.

"Nikolai flew us in on a Shadow Company Pave-Low. It ran out of fuel, and we had a rough landing...I don't think it'll be flying any time soon. What about you guys?"

"We drove a Russian army truck; the engine shut down after we were inside the city boundaries."

"Do you have heartbeat sensors?"

"Da, I have one. It has not been working ever since we entered the town; all it shows is static."

"So it isn't just our monitors. How about your radios?"

"They don't work either. It is like everything that grabs a signal is not working; my cellphone says no signal, the truck radio picks up static, the UAV control rig cannot get to the UAV..."

"So someone, or something, is jamming all signals in the town...a scrambler tower?"

Dimitri shook his head as he answered Captain Price's question.

"There are no locations here where someone could set up a jammer that powerful. And this isn't just a scrambler or jammer. The heartbeat sensor doesn't need radio signals; it uses electromagnetic forces emitted by humans to determine locations. Something's causing really powerful interference on all wavelengths, including EM," the Lieutenant answered coolly.

"Could this have anything to do with the disappearances?"

"I do not know, Captain Price. Whatever caused those disappearances, I think it was not human." Sergei replied.

"Come on...wild animals? In a town of this size? I find that hard to believe." Price retorted.

"We do not even know if they are wild animals, or bio-modified animals...or some sort of laboratory monster." Sergei countered.

"There is no reason to argue about this. We do not know what killed the citizens. Let's find out before we jump to conclusions." Nikolai interjected, his mouth empty for once.

"All right. Who's going with me?" Captain Price surveyed, glancing about the room.

Sergei raised his hand, as did Nikolai.

"We need two people to protect Soap. Captain Terasov, you're coming with me. Nikolai and Dimitri, stay here."

"But..." Nikolai stammered.

"That's an order, brother." the Spetsnaz captain interjected.

"Fine..." Nikolai moped.

"We will be back within about two hours. If we don't come after two hours and fifteen minutes, head out and look for us." the older Terasov added.

"No. Whatever killed those people is still out there. If Nikolai goes after us, he risks his life. Stay here, Nikolai. Protect Soap alongside Lieutenant Barshai." Price commanded.

Nikolai glanced to Sergei, seeking his older brother's approval.

"Fine. Stay here, protect Soap...don't get killed." Captain Terasov sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Grab your weapon, Sergei. Let's go." Price said, checking his M1911's ammunition.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Go Loud

The bearded SAS operative took point, followed by the elder Terasov. They swept through the main streets of the city, moving quickly and efficiently.

As Price checked a side alley, he heard a scratching, clanking noise, like something being scraped against metal.

"Sergei. You hear that?" Price whispered hoarsely.

The Russian nodded.

"Loud and clear. I will see what it is; let me take point." Sergei murmured in response.

The mustached Russian moved ahead, looking around the corner of the grimy, foggy alleyway.

"Shit...come look at this, Price..." Sergei said, signaling to Price to move closer.

The SAS captain moved ahead cautiously, leaning around the corner with his combat rifle aimed.

A humanoid monster was standing in the dimly-lit alleyway. It had a spindly bipedal body and some human features, like arms and legs. However, its skin was transparent and slightly brown and showed the muscle structure, and it had incredibly long, sharp, black claws in lieu of fingers. The flesh seemed to be almost rotting; it stank of decay, and had a wet sheen to it. The monster's gut appeared to be cut open; it had what appeared to be a small proboscis there, where the stomach was normally located. Its facial features were distorted into a bloody grimace of pain and anger, sharpened by its beady black eyes. It had pinned a Shadow Company trooper to a dumpster, and was lunging viciously at the helpless soldier's neck with incredibly sharp fangs. The clanking was coming from his gun, which was scraping against the container as the trooper squirmed uselessly.

"I'm going loud." Price growled.

Price wasted no time in aiming a clean headshot at the creature, immediately incapacitating it...but not killing it.

Even though its head was blown to shreds, it still managed to stagger around, swiping haphazardly in the direction of the trooper, who was running towards Price and Terasov.

Price blasted the monster to its doom with a hail of well-aimed M4A1 rounds, swapping to his M1911 and firing a few rounds into its motionless corpse for good measure.

The Shadow Company soldier was leaned over, panting and leaning on the wall.

The SAS captain put a hand on his shoulder.

"You all right?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

He was surprised to hear a woman's voice coming from within the suit.

"Of course I'm all right...I just got attacked by some freakish monster, I'm just dandy right now." she responded sarcastically.

"You're with Shadow Company?" Terasov asked in surprise.

"Yeah, or, at least I was. I defected when they gave the orders to kill the One-Four-One guys, and ran away here. You're...Captain John Price, aren't you?"

"Yes. That's me. Now you tell me. Who are you?" he asked, motioning with his M1911.

She pulled off her balaclava, and pushed a few strands of hair out of her face casually. She had medium-length reddish-brown hair, framing a sharp-eyed face with bright green eyes.

"My name is Corporal Meryl Shepherd, USMC engineer and CQB expert, age 27."

Shepherd. Price hoped she wasn't related to the Lieutenant General Alan Shepherd they'd just recently killed.

"Do you have any ordinance, Corporal?" Captain Price barked, in his drill-sergeant voice.

"Yes, sir. I have 5 C4 packs, 5 Claymores, and 5 sticky grenades, as well as 3 frags."

"Good. What weapons do you have?"

"I have a UMP45 with ACOG sight, and a Striker with a Red-Dot."

"That'll do fine. Are you willing to join up with us? There are a few more survivors at the city hospital; we're holding up over there."

"I'm all in. Anything is better than being stuck out here. One question, though...who's the big Russian?"

"He's Captain Sergei Terasov, from the Spetsnaz. Don't worry about him, he's pleasant enough once you get to know him."

"Okay then. Just makin' sure. Let's go."

"Sergei, you take point." Price growled, motioning with his M1911.

"Got it." the Russian responded.

He turned the corner, checking to the right, then the left with his Kalashnikov.

While he was turning to the left, he saw a large mass of flesh hurl itself at him.

The Russian captain had no time to pull the trigger before the monster slammed into him head-on. The force of the impact knocked him flat, hurling his weapon several feet away. The creature was straddling him, its talons tearing at his arms and chest, trying to get at the vulnerable neck area. He struggled to keep its claws away from his face as they tore at his uniform for traction.

"Sergei!" Meryl shouted.

She shoved past Price, who had raised his M4A1, and blasted away at the monster with her auto-shotgun, knocking it off the dazed Russian. She pumped another three shells into it, ensuring it was dead.

The Spetsnaz captain remained on the pavement for a few seconds, shell-shocked from the impact.

Eventually he stood up shakily, the entire top half of his uniform a tattered mess. There were slashes and scrapes all over his sinewy chest; fortunately, none of them were too deep.

"Sergei! Are you all right?" Captain Price asked, concern and fear evident in his voice.

"Da. I've seen worse..." Sergei groaned, staggering slightly.

"Come on, we need to get back. The sun's setting; I think that's when they come out." Meryl said, surveying their environment.

Price and Meryl helped Sergei, who had a slight limp, and was still stunned by the force of the impact, walk back to the hospital where Soap, Nikolai, and Dimitri were camping out.

"Come on, big guy, just a bit farther; you can make it." Meryl encouraged him gently.

It seemed to Captain Price that the Marine had taken an immediate liking to the husky Spetsnaz captain. But he kept his mouth shut about it. Despite his cut-the-crap direct nature, he knew when not to open his mouth.

Once they reached the hospital and got Sergei into a room, Price went to alert Soap, Nikolai, and Dimitri of their new teammate.

Soap was asleep, so he addressed only the Russians.

"Oi, Nikolai, Dimitri. There's some good news, and some bad news."

"Where's Sergei?" Nikolai exclaimed.

"That's the bad news...he was attacked by the same monsters that attacked the civilians. He's fine with just a few slashes on his upper body. Nothing severe."

"And what's the good news?"

"We have a new teammate; she's in the other room, with Sergei."

"Oh. Okay. I'll meet him later. Wait...did you say she?"

"Yes. I said she. Corporal Meryl Shepherd, USMC. She's a demolitions expert."

"But she's a girl!"

"And what, exactly, is the problem you have with that?" Price was beginning to lose his patience with Nikolai.

"Nothing...never mind..." Nikolai mumbled.

"Alright then...I'm going back to check on Sergei."

Price strode back to the injured Russian's room.

The SAS captain was relieved to find Meryl tending to Sergei's wounds, carefully disinfecting them, and bandaging the deeper ones. He leaned on the doorframe casually, observing Sergei and Meryl.

"Stop squirming, Captain Terasov...I can't get the gauze on..."

"Sorry." he mumbled, and settled down slightly.

Once she'd finished patching up his cuts, the Marine traced her fingers over the Russian's fox insignia tattoo, earning a shudder from the Russian officer.

"What does this tattoo mean?"

"It is the emblem of Fox Squad. It represents stealth and resourcefulness."

"That's interesting..." Meryl seemed lost in thought for a few seconds, until she suddenly spoke up once more.

"Wait, Fox Squad, as in, THE Fox Squad? The most highly skilled unit in all of the Spetsnaz?" she questioned, pulling slightly away from Sergei, an eyebrow raised suspiciously.

"Yes, that is right." the captain grumbled.

Meryl chuckled slightly.

"I am truly in awe. I never thought I'd meet a real live Fox Squad commando up close. Dead, maybe." The Marine said, somewhat sarcastically.

"Well, now you have. Can you give me some space, please?" Sergei muttered, annoyed.

"Yeah, sure." Meryl rolled away her chair, giving the Russian commando a wide berth.

Price smirked at his cohort's discomfort, tossing Sergei a dark gray t-shirt and pixel-patterned Kevlar-weave combat jacket.

"Here, take these. The jacket should provide a bit more protection than your uniform."

"Thanks, Captain Price." Sergei said, as he pulled on the tee and combat jacket.

"No problem."

Just then, Nikolai pushed past Price, sitting near his older brother.

"Sergei...what the hell happened?"

"We were attacked. The things that attacked us...they are hideous. They look like thin, spindly humans with thin, rotting skin. They have these...tubes on their stomachs. Their eyes are black and beady, and they have these huge talons instead of fingers. They run like hell, and a headshot is not a guaranteed killing shot. They need quite a few bullets to kill them."

"Are you hurt, brother?"

"Not badly; just a few slashes and bruises. Meryl has patched me up pretty well. How is Soap doing?"

"He's conscious, and is getting a bit better, I suppose. He can sit up now."

"Then he can defend himself. In a few days, we will be able to move out."

"Da...that is the problem, Sergei. Your truck is totaled. Our chopper is unflyable. How do we leave?"

"There must be a way; next morning, we look for vehicles."

"Sounds like a plan, my Russian friends." Price interjected. "Tomorrow we look for some way to get out. And tonight...we hole up here. We'll take shifts to guard the entrance. Meryl and I will go on the first shift. Dimitri and Sergei take the second. Nikolai watches over Soap. Agreed?"

"Sounds good to me..." Sergei and Meryl responded.

"Why am I stuck with Soap?" Nikolai grumbled.

"Because it's the most tactical decision. Meryl has explosives and an auto-shotgun. Dimitri will be useless in taking care of Soap if he needs medical attention. Sergei and I are the most experienced members of the group. That leaves you. You have good medical skills, in addition to having no unique combat abilities."

"What do you mean by that?"

"He means that you are just as good as any other soldier. Your skills in ground combat are not exactly mind-blowing." Sergei explained quietly.

"Hey! I have to be at least as good as Dimitri!"

The blonde soldier was standing right outside the door.

"I'd beg to differ, Nikolai. My time on the training course was twenty-two seconds with perfect accuracy, all headshots." he said casually.

"That's why he's in Fox Squad. His reaction times." Sergei added.

"But...but I got thirty-five seconds!" Nikolai moaned.

"And you shot every civilian target! That's why you joined the Air Force! You just blow everything up!" Sergei retorted harshly.

Nikolai hung his head when it became clear that he wouldn't be going on patrol with the others.

"Fine...fine...you win." The pilot said defeatedly.

Sergei sighed and put a hand on his little brother's shoulder.

"Hey...you don't suck too badly. Maybe, once Soap gets better, you can go on patrol with him."

"Meryl. You ready?" Price barked at the Marine.

"Hm? Of course. Got my Striker, got my UMP. Locked and loaded." she responded, standing up.

Price motioned towards a cabinet.

"We're going in fifteen. Eat something before you go."

"Yes, sir."

Price sighed, striding off to Soap's room.

He stepped in, and found the Scotsman sitting up in his hospital bed, reading a Russian magazine.

"Soap...how are you doing now?" Price asked gently.

The Scottish captain looked up from his reading, focusing his sights on his former CO and best friend.

"Much better, mate. I think I can stand up and maybe walk."

"Don't rush yourself. We don't want you to get hurt." Price said, a look of concern shadowing his features. He didn't want Soap to reopen his wounds; if that happened, he might very well get an infection and die.

"I won't, mate. I'm good enough to walk, see?" Soap responded.

The Scotsman swung his legs over the edge of the hospital bed, standing on them carefully.

He took a few tentative steps, deciding that he was all right.

"Amazing, Soap. Recovered already?" Price replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Eh. What can I say? Not much can stop me." Soap grinned victoriously.

"Still, you should take it easy. Don't walk around too much, sleep a lot, eat plenty."

He tossed Soap a package of instant noodles-in-a-cup and a bottle of water.

"Wow. Never thought you'd be the kind of person to get this crap..." MacTavish muttered, turning the package over in his hands.

"Necessity. It's a pain, ain't it? Eat up. You need the energy." Price said, a slight smirk on the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, drill sergeant!" Soap saluted with mock enthusiasm.

Price just chuckled, turning to leave.

"Hey! Where are you going, old friend?" the Scotsman questioned.

He turned back towards Soap.

"There are...tangos in the town. They come out at night, so Meryl and I are going on guard duty."

"Didn't know you had a badass girlfriend, Pricey."

"She isn't my girlfriend. She's a corporal from Shadow Company, former USMC. A demolitions expert as well. We found her when we went out to sweep the town. She's on our side now."

"Quite the persuader, are you? Convinced a Shadow Company trooper to work with some of the most-wanted men in the world?" Soap said as he poured water into the cup of instant noodles.

"She deserted Shadow Company when the orders to kill the One-Four-One came in, so she's almost as wanted as we are now."

"Oh. Nice. Well, good luck out there."

"One last thing, Soap. Can you figure out what's wrong with this heartbeat sensor? It isn't showing any dots, just static."

The Brit tossed the Scot a heartbeat sensor.

"Hmm...looks like it needs adjusting. I'll try and tune it again. Thought I had the settings for these things down pat..." Soap mumbled under his breath, fiddling with the dials on the tiny device.

"If you can get it working, that'd be great. We have a whole bunch of these that have the exact same problem."

"As long as I can get this one tuned up, we should be good to go."

"Hey, Price. Let's go." Meryl said, poking her head into the room.

Soap raised his eyes from the gadget he was attempting to fix, and glanced at Meryl.

"You're Meryl, huh? I'm Captain John MacTavish, Task Force 141. Nice to meet ya." Soap said, a bemused expression on his face.

"Same to you, sir." Meryl replied.

"All right, no time for pleasantries. Let's go. Lock and load, Corporal."

"Good luck out there, guys. Stay frosty." Soap said, waving at the two soldiers.

"Don't worry about us, Mohawk. We'll be fine." Meryl muttered sarcastically over her shoulder.

Soap grinned as Price and Meryl left. Meryl had an attitude; she was no pushover. He liked people who were outgoing and forceful, who weren't passive. That was why his troops didn't get along very well in the barracks; they were all bold, confident individuals. Especially Ghost and Roach.

He still couldn't believe that his XO was dead. It was a harsh blow to him. He sighed and went back to fixing the heartbeat sensor.


End file.
